


Hold On a Little Longer

by Spork_in_the_Road



Series: October Spook-Fest: 31 Days of Prompts [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Maurader's Era, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Pregnancy, Prophecy, Sort Of, and instead it's just kinda sad, basically everyone is trying to beat the prophecy, this was supposed to be mostly crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 23:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16482017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spork_in_the_Road/pseuds/Spork_in_the_Road
Summary: It’s almost midnight when James says it, the thing that will consume their thoughts for the next five months.“Well it’s simple, isn’t it?” he says, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. It’s the look of a man who’s maybe a bit manic, a bit desperate. “We’ll defy Voldemort a fourth time and the prophecy won’t apply to us anymore.”**In which the Potters and the Longbottoms both try to outsmart the prophecy before their sons are born**





	Hold On a Little Longer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChipsandChicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipsandChicken/gifts).



> October 6th: prophecy & paranoia
> 
> Sorry I'm late again, but at least it's still October :)

When Lily Potter joined up with the Order of the Phoenix, she knew there were risks. But with her being a muggleborn and James being an auror, she figured that they were already going to be targeted by the Death Eaters even if they had tried to stay neutral. Not that they would have, in any case, but still. Joining the Order was, ultimately, an easy decision.

 

When it was just the two of them.

 

Finding out you’re having a baby in war time is a lot like finding a ticking bomb in your bed when you wake up in the morning, Lily thinks: disaster hasn’t struck yet, but if you don’t get out fast enough, it will. And it isn’t that Lily doesn’t want the baby—Merlin, she has never wanted anything more than this child. From the moment the pregnancy detection spell shimmers gold over her stomach, she knows she would give anything—anything: her magic, her safety, her life—just to keep them safe.

 

But being pregnant during a war makes your realize just how badly you’re losing, and Lily—six weeks pregnant and sitting on the bathroom floor, staring at the paint peeling off the base-boards—can finally, _finally_ admit that they are losing the war against Voldemort. They are losing, and she is going to bring a baby into a world where she cannot guarantee they won’t be hunted or tortured or oppressed just for the sake of blood-status. She is going to bring a baby into this world— _is it selfish,_ she wonders, _to want a family that you can’t hope to protect_.

 

James, though. James knows the risks as well as she does. He knows what kind of life awaits them by raising a child during a war that they’ve both committed to fight in. And yet all he can find is excitement and hope that bubbles up so warmly in his eyes that Lily thinks it might be contagious—and maybe she should have stayed away from James Potter after all, if she’d known he could infect her with nothing but a smile.

 

* * *

 

At family dinner—which is what James calls it; Lily just calls it chaos—they reveal the pregnancy to Sirius, Remus, and Peter with all the grace that is befitting of a Maurader. Which is to say, none.

 

“Worked up an appetite?” Sirius asks, eyeing James’ plate of towering mashed potatoes somewhat warily. The last time James stockpiled food like that, it had resulted in an all-out food-fight in their dining room, and Lily had made the four of them clean everything without magic. He’s not overly eager to repeat the experience (even if mashed potatoes are the _ideal_ food-fight food.)

 

James—with a shit-eating grin that he’s never been good at keeping under wraps—hums in response.

 

“Well, I am eating for two,” he says, taking Lily’s hand in his as he waits patiently for the joke to land. She would’ve been content to just tell them outright, but the utterly flabbergasted look on Sirius’s face and the way Remus drops his fork just might make it worth it.

 

* * *

 

For all that James is wild and reckless and a bunch of other things that Lily has learned to call endearing, he is unfailingly gentle with her, and especially now that they’re pregnant. Her baby bump hasn’t even started to show yet—she’s only ten weeks pregnant, after all—but every day when James comes home from work, he kisses her and then drops to his knees to speak to the baby, cooing softly to “little Prongslet.” When Lily wakes in the early hours of the morning to vomit, James holds her hair back and presses a cool wash-cloth to her forehead. When she craves pickles at two in the morning, James rolls out of bed and goes to the nearest muggle grocery store, which is terribly sweet even if he accidentally went as a stag once and nearly got caught by animal control.

 

It’s unfair, Lily thinks, that she only gets one month to enjoy the idea of raising this baby with James before it all comes crashing down. Albus Dumbledore calls a small Order meeting the first week of February. Lily and James are there. So are Alice and Frank Longbottom.

 

“There’s been a prophecy,” Dumbledore says, and he won’t quite meet their eyes.

 

* * *

 

_“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.”_

 

The words echo in Lily’s head. She can’t get rid of them. When she’s washing dishes. When she’s in the shower. When she’s folding laundry. When she’s grocery shopping. They repeat over and over and over until she thinks she’s going to go mad.

 

James tries not to let it bother him, but Lily knows her husband better than she knows herself some days, and she sees the tiredness in his eyes, can feel it in the way he wraps his arms around her. Their son—because it’s been fourteen weeks now, and they know it’s a boy—might be the savior of the wizarding world. He might also have to die for it.

 

It is unbelievably selfish, cruel almost, but Lily almost hopes that the prophecy really refers to Alice and Frank’s child, and not hers. In truth, she wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but there is a voice in the back of her mind that constantly prays, _please, please, not my son._

 

* * *

 

“Fleamont is a good, family name,” James says, and has been saying for two or three weeks now.

 

Lily can’t tell if he’s serious or not, and she doesn’t bother asking because she doesn’t want to trigger yet another, “I’m not Sirius, he is.” Instead, she outright refuses to have a son called Fleamont, doesn’t even let James get past his first defense for the name. She also shoots down Charlus and Hadrian. But it’s the latter that brings them to finally decide on a name.

 

“Harry,” Lily suggests once morning. She loves the name, and now that she’s thought of it, she can’t imagine naming her son something else. James looks like he might protest, though, so Lily rolls her eyes and decides that maybe she can concede, a little, on the middle name. “Harry James.”

 

* * *

 

Voldemort knows.

 

The moment Dumbledore sits Lily, James, Alice, and Frank down in his office, Lily knows something is wrong. And when Dumbledore, who looks increasingly worn-down every single time she sees him, tells the four of them that they’ll have to go into hiding, Lily understands instantly.

 

The hat once told her that she could have been in Slytherin if only the Gryffindor in her hadn’t been so blindingly bright. But there is enough snake-ish cunning and self-preservation for her to understand, enough for her to expect what the Dark Lord will do. Somehow, Voldemort has a spy in the Order. And somehow, Voldemort found out about the prophecy. And now he will kill them and their unborn children before the prophecy can even begin, before one of their children can even have a chance to grow into a threat.

 

Objectively, it’s the smart move, and Lily can understand why he’d do it.

 

But that doesn’t mean she isn’t horrified. Scared that her son, Harry, hasn’t been born yet, and might not ever get to live because of Voldemort. Scared that everything good might be ripped away from her.

 

They’ll need a secret keeper, she decides, even as the conversation blurs around her. She’ll hide if she has to. She’ll do anything, _anything_ , to keep her son safe.

 

* * *

 

It’s the saddest party Lily has ever seen, but then, she supposes it’s more fitting this way. They’re saying goodbye, the Potters and the Longbottoms, because they’re going into hiding and this might well be the last time they see each other. Lily hopes not, because she adores Alice and Frank and she had hoped their sons could grow up together. And because she doesn’t want this to be the end; it’s far too early.

 

Frank and the Mauraders are drunk on firewhiskey. Luckily not so drunk that they won’t all be able to floo home, but drunk enough that they’re giggly despite everything. Lily can’t remember the last time she was giggly. She can’t remember the last time there wasn’t a weight on her chest that made breathing barely possible.

 

It’s almost midnight when James says it, the thing that will consume their thoughts for the next five months.

 

“Well it’s simple, isn’t it?” he says, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. It’s the look of a man who’s maybe a bit manic, a bit desperate. “We’ll defy Voldemort a fourth time and the prophecy won’t apply to us anymore.”

 

Everyone in the room stares at him. They stare and they stare and Lily thinks that her whole life has been boiled down to this single moment. Because James…James is brilliant. She could kiss him.

 

“I’ll fucking fight Voldemort himself,” Alice declares after a moment of stunned silence. In that moment, Lily almost thinks they won’t have to wait for some prophesized hero. Alice is, after all, a trained auror. And on top of that, she’s a pregnant woman stressed out by a prophecy and hormones.

 

Lily smiles. Voldemort wouldn’t stand a chance.

 

* * *

 

Logically, Lily knows that this plan is stupid. Voldemort probably won’t give two shits whether or not they somehow manage to outsmart the prophecy. He’ll target them anyway. But Lily also can’t just sit around the house doing nothing while they’re in hiding. Not when there’s a chance—no matter how slim—that they could spare Harry the burden of being some kind of glorified hero. Not if they can spare him from having to martyr himself.

 

She’s six months along. It’s far too early to give birth, and she’s too far along to go out and fight anymore. But James can, and so can Frank. And even though James won’t tell her as much, Lily hears from some pretty reliable sources (read: Sirius’s bragging) that they’ve been out in full force, baiting Death Eater’s during raids and shouting condemnations of Voldemort from the top of their lungs.

 

James and Frank are actually getting quite the reputation for being either utterly fearless or suicidal.

 

(Apparently, yelling, “Voldemort is a punk bitch,” from the top of your lungs during a Death Eater raid will get you some serious street cred with the younger aurors, if rumors are to be believed.)

 

Half the time, Lily would like to smack her stupid husband for goading people like that, especially since the Death Eaters are dangerous, and as much as Lily would like to void the prophecy, she also doesn’t want to raise Harry by herself. But she doesn’t berate James for it, even if it worries her sick. She knows that if she could be out there fighting, she’d probably be doing the same thing.

 

* * *

 

June rolls around surprisingly fast, and Lily feels like a puffed up balloon. She can barely see her feet over her stomach and she still technically has nearly two full months before baby Harry is due. Her back hurts all the time, and her feet are sore. Her cravings should be waning, but they seem worse (pickles, but also cabbage for some reason, and chocolate all the time). And the baby kicks. All. Night. Long.

 

But, baby Harry is healthy according to the mediwitch Lily saw the other week. Everything looked to be on target. Very minimal chance of premature birth.

 

She wants her baby to be healthy. She just also wishes he would decide to come a week or two early.

 

* * *

 

On July 20th, approximately a week before Harry’s due date when it’s finally safe to induce labor, Lily chugs raspberry tea and eats dates with every meal. She does yoga—carefully—twice a day, and talks to the baby, trying to encourage him to come just a little sooner.

 

The prophecy says, “As the seventh month dies.” And Lily decides to take that as meaning either the 30th or 31st. A whole week early should be enough. But if not, then she can hope for the first week in August instead.

 

On July 28th, Lily hasn’t felt one sign of a contraction. Time to switch tactics.

 

* * *

 

Alice goes into labor on the 30th and Neville Longbottom is born. Neither Lily nor James are able to go visit them in the hospital, but they can imagine what Alice and Frank might look like. Relieved that their son is alive, born. Terrified, because they have not managed to circumvent the prophecy. Not enough, at least.

 

Lily lies still, doesn’t move too much. One more day. That’s all she has to make it through. One more day. And if Harry is born in August instead, he’ll be free.

 

_Just hold on a little longer, Harry,_ Lily says to him. _Please._

 

* * *

 

Lily goes into labor around three o’clock in the morning. James gets her to the hospital and they’re in the all-white room, just waiting. She’s trying not to freak out. Labor can be long, she knows, and it’s not always easy. She never thought she would pray for this, but Lily is begging Lady Magic for a long labor. She doesn’t care if it’s painful. There are less than twenty-four hours until August.

 

Twenty hours.

 

Eighteen hours.

 

Thirteen hours.

 

The contractions are slightly more frequent, but the mediwitch says that Lily’s cervix isn’t dilated enough yet. There’s still time.

 

* * *

 

Eight hours.

 

Five hours.

 

Two hours.

 

The contractions are awful. The worst thing Lily has felt in her whole life, she thinks, and she wonders if this is where the inspiration for the Cruciatus curse comes from—even though she’s never personally experienced the spell herself, she cannot imagine a pain worse than this, and she’s on painkillers.

 

But even through the agony, and the mediwitch telling her to _push,_ and the feel of James’s hand in hers, Lily knows it’s too early. There are two hours left until August. Two hours between Harry and safety. And he won’t make it. She can feel it. She won’t last that long.

 

* * *

 

Harry is the most beautiful baby. Already, he has a head of dark curls, just like James. His fingers are so small—everything about him is outrageously tiny—but strong. His little baby lips squish together as he sleeps. And his eyes, that they’d gotten one good look at before he’d closed them so he could nap, are green like Lily’s. He is perfect.

 

And though he’s in danger—he’d been born at 10:30 p.m.—Lily allows herself one moment to not worry about Harry’s future. For now, he’s safe in her arms.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing James and Lily, and well, most of these characters honestly. It's also a far cry from the type of story I usually do. But one late-night convo with my best friend brought about the idea that OF COURSE James and Lily Potter are the type to be like, "Fuck the Prophecy." And then try to do everything in their power to no longer qualify for it. 
> 
> ANYWAY. Please comment or kudos, because I love hearing from all of you. And you can find me on tumblr at officialsporkintheroad if you'd like to talk more there.


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